


Mr. Reaper

by houston180



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil 2 - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Chapter 3 is basically just porn, Gay Sex, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Oral Sex, Rimming, They have like five lines of dialogue, This is really reaching, Why do I do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houston180/pseuds/houston180
Summary: Guess there's no keeping down the Grim Reaper, huh?Relax, Mr. Reaper. I'm headed toward the front gate of R.P.D. Pick you up there.------Chapter 3 is now up.





	1. Exposure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arienai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arienai/gifts).



> Sister/sequel work: [Decontamination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283427) by [arienai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arienai/pseuds/arienai)
> 
> Chinese translation by JonesNane0628 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825735
> 
> Russian translation by Yen Shee here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/7968272/20229985

_Why’d you come back?_

_I wanted to meet the Grim Reaper._

I hope that sounded the way I meant it to. Casual. Even from the air the city looked like the worst war zone I had ever seen. Bosnia didn’t even come close. They briefed us about this… warned us about disavowal, acceptable losses, the possibility of mass casualty. This was the fifth flyover, and I hadn’t seen a single survivor; shit was as far from casual as it could possibly be, but I hoped that’s how I sounded anyway.

The things that you could mistake for people, or at least looked the most similar – stumbling or crawling through the ruins and flaming wreckage in the streets – were usually missing limbs or jaws. Easy to tell apart, even from a distance. Then there were other things that were harder to describe. The kind of impossible that didn’t even need a non-disclosure agreement; there was no fucking way anyone would believe what you saw, and if they did, they were probably crazier than you were. That’s what we were currently looking at, plus at least a dozen of the people-looking things crowding at the gates to the RPD. In front, the lone survivor of alpha team, looking like he took a shower in a meat processing plant: head-to-toe gore. Must’ve really been in the shit.

“Yo… I guess I owe you five dollars.” Pelayo wasn’t easily impressed, but her mic picked up the long exhalation that followed that statement.

“No shit. I guess the stories are true.” We were muttering to each other, even though he was still on the ground and he didn’t even have access to this channel- like he might hear us if we spoke too loud. We could both see him there, and despite the countdown ticking on our monitor, we had to take a second to make sure it was clear - clear enough - to drop the ladder. No time to land. 

To our credit, he was already dropping body armour and satchels before we even got close. Fuck it though, that shit wasn’t ours and Umbrella could spare the pocket change it would take to get newer, less-contaminated gear. No time for a hose off either… well fuck that too, there was no way I was leaving this one behind. 

_Go, Nighthawk. Get out._

Not today. Not this time. And never again, if I could help it. 

I think Pelayo must have agreed, because she spoke up next, “Targets at his ten, just behind that bus. He better move his ass- I don’t want any extra passengers.”

“Hunk, I’m dropping the ladder. We’re out of here as soon as you’re on.” Between the apartment building and the tiny parking lot, this was going to be tight. I could see what my co-pilot was seeing now, and it wasn’t pretty. Twenty, maybe thirty more bodies reeling around to the noise from the rotor, then after a second’s pause, ambling and shuffling with their mouths open toward the promise of a nice canned meal. 

Keeping the bird steady wouldn’t normally be a problem, but steady enough to dust off without throwing our VIP? I was already barely keeping cool. I saw what these things did to bravo team, within five minutes of deployment. As a pilot you rarely see combat unless there’s a dog fight, but if so much as one managed to grab on… _Come on stow your shit, Jason! You’re better than this. Don’t let it get to you._

I won’t lie, though. When we got close enough to really get a good look at what was trying to break down the gate, and the stream of bodies stumbling toward Hunk, reaching and snarling… clouded eyes, rotting faces, limbs jerking and clawing the air… A few of them got close enough to make a lunge for the ladder and fell back with bullet holes ripped into their chests. They were still moving when they hit the ground, already getting up again in seconds. I definitely felt my heart stop the second the bird lurched. 

“I’m on. Go.” I barely heard it. My brain registered those words before my head did, because my hands felt like they were moving before I even told them to. I don’t think I ever took off so fast in my entire damn life, and I’ve probably never been that spooked either. 

Pelayo, my goddamn spirit animal, said exactly what I was thinking, “Jesus _fuck_. You saw that, right? _Fuck_.” 

“Yeah.” All I could muster for a few long seconds as I remembered to slow our ascent a little. Give Hunk a chance to get on board. Try to get my head right: there was protocol to follow, even if we had to haul ass now. 

Of course, I could use the chance to cool down too. As much as I was trying to play it off, my hands were shaking and my thoughts were all over the place. I needed to concentrate on anything else besides what was out that window, and what was in my head. 

“Damn it, Hawk.” Good ol’ Pelayo, already taking the controls before I even asked her, though she was rolling her eyes at me to make sure I knew what she thought of it. 

“Come on, Raptor. Or what, you thinking about switching teams now?” We were tight, me and Pelayo. So tight, I’d been to her house for the last three Christmases since her folks didn’t know about her strict fish taco diet. Playing her boyfriend had its benefits; she got to avoid family drama, and in return I got a wing man to keep watch for five minutes every now and again when I needed to blow off steam and there was nowhere else to go but the back of the chopper.

“For that guy? I dunno, maybe. Hell of a reputation.” It was a joke, but not much of one. They didn’t call him the Grim Reaper for nothing. Neither of us had ever really worked with the guy directly, but there were stories floating around since the day he signed his contract. 

“Well you just say the word…” I was already heading back to give him a hand up. He could probably use one by now, and protocol was protocol. “I’m cool with making this a threesome.”

“Yeah, _nah_.” Her tone said everything it needed to: Pelayo would be sticking to pussy for now, “Why can’t we ever get any hot female VIPs, huh?” One last lament, and she shut up just before I finally caught sight of the gloved hand I was expecting, and caught it to pull him in. 

“Welcome back Mr. Rea- _Jesus_!” I was expecting the gore and blood. I was not expecting the smell. “What did you do? Roll in them?”

“My primary route was a no-go. Had to take the sewers.” If that last encounter had shaken the the Grim Reaper at all, he wasn’t showing it. He sounded cold as ice under the gas mask. …I don’t know what I was expecting, really, but he was living up to it already. 

“Well, you know the drill. Bite check.” The science guys who conferenced in to brief us on it called it something more euphemistic - penetrating injury inspection - but we knew exactly what they were getting at. This whole nightmare still didn’t quite feel real, but they made it abundantly clear that if we didn’t do it and sign off for the medics who would do their own inspection after, we wouldn’t be making it back to base. They’d shoot us out of the air if it came down to it. 

“Mm.” Hunk, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. I didn’t blame him. As covered in filth as he was, I’d be ready to strip out of my gear too. The back of the helo was all set up with decontamination stations… more than were needed now. The contaminated gear all went into double layer bright orange biohazardous waste bags. I had to glove up to help him dump it all in, weapons included. 

Truth was, according to protocol there was some spray I was supposed to hose him down with before he even got on the bird… but there wasn’t any time for it, so fuck it. This would have to do. 

“Got a shot ready if you need it.” With the outer layers off and the gas mask gone, the man in front of me looked a lot less intimidating. No less calm, but a lot more tired. I’m not a medic, but I was inspecting him all the same. I had gel and wipes on hand, and we were supposed to clean anything that even looked like a bruise. It was dark as hell in the back of the bird though, and it was hard trying to figure out what was a bruise and what was a shadow. Half the tube was gone before he even took off his shirt, and I couldn’t help but whistle. Something had kicked his ass pretty hard- his whole back was going to be black and blue tomorrow. “Shit… you might want it just to be safe.”

Or, I might. There were a few marks that looked like bites - a real nasty one on his shoulder that had gone red with a bunch of scratch marks around it - but the skin wasn’t broken. Not that I could tell, anyway. I nearly gagged when I leaned closer for a better look - even with his shirt off he smelled like shit, rot, and a half gallon of hand sanitizer. 

“Ugh, Christ. I’ve seen dead hookers that smelled better than you.” That got a chuckle, finally. Not that I’d been trying too hard, but it was nice. Mr. Reaper didn’t look half bad when he smiled. 

“How’s my neck? One of those plant things tried to chew on me, but I don’t think it got through…” He craned his head to the side and instinctively I leaned in to look closer, only to jump back about five inches when he opened his mouth and bit the air next to my cheek. I heard the click of his teeth and just about coughed up my heart… about a second before he started to laugh - really laugh - this time. I had to sit there with my face red until I calmed down enough to punch him in the shoulder. 

“What the _fuck_. That wasn’t funny.” Clearly, I was alone in that opinion, because I could hear Pelayo snickering in the front. 

“It was a little.” Hunk’s eyes were glittering as his pants came off. All the clothing tossed directly into the orange bags along with the gear. 

His legs weren’t as bad as his torso. …Aside from smelling worse than the rest of him, there was no sign of damage. I did my duty all the same, and they got the same dose of sanitizer that the rest of him had; if there were any microbes left on him at all after this was through, it would be some kind of record. 

When I suddenly felt his hand close around my arm I looked up from my work, startled at the interruption. “…I was serious about the neck.” He’d stopped laughing now, expression calculating. I could tell what he was thinking: if there was a chance it did get through his body armour, he’d need to use the syringe, but if he did that he’d be in quarantine for the next week. We all would. 

“I can’t see anything. It looks clean to me, but I’m not a medic.” That was the truth. But… if it were me, I’d be scared as hell at even the chance of being infected. Even if Hunk seemed cool as ice on the surface, maybe at the back of his mind that’s what he was thinking too. 

_This is war. Survival is your responsibility._

He hadn’t let go of my arm yet, and he wasn’t speaking either. There was a kind of uncomfortable tension building- my face felt warmer than it had a second ago, and I was still a little red from the stunt he pulled earlier. This was probably a bad idea… but that flush was working its way down into the pit of my stomach, twisting as it went. He still looked calculating; searching my face for something. I wasn’t sure if he was finding it. 

I don’t know which of us moved first: our eyes locked, a second passed, and then something broke. My tongue was in his mouth. Or vice versa. It was hard to tell between the instant jolt of electricity and the way my head was reeling. His hand was still fixed around my arm but the other found the back of my hair. Everything felt dizzyingly hot, and this was probably a _really_ fucking bad idea, but neither of us were slowing down. I still had the tube of sanitizer in my hand, and my rational mind told me I should probably finish the job, so in another moment I squeezed the rest of it into my free palm, found the waistband of his boxers, and reached in to start cleaning up. It made for shitty lube, but that first few seconds of feeling him squirm and shift his legs apart was pure gold. His cock was already getting hard before I even got it in my hand, so … I couldn’t really be blamed for this, could I? I knew exactly what Pelayo was going to say later, but fuck her. I really didn’t start it this time. 

In case I needed proof, Mr. Reaper was on it- yanking open my pants to return the favour. I couldn’t help grinning, expecting a quick hand job and a ‘thanks for everything’- shit, half of the guys on contract must have known I was good for it at this point - but in another second his lips left mine and the hand in my hair shifted to my waist so he could move down to get his mouth around my dick. So. Not his first rodeo. I wasn’t expecting it, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn it down, even if he still stank like an alcoholic’s toilet; those lips were good and tight, and he wasn’t fucking around - I was throbbing hard in seconds from how fast and deep he was sucking me. Probably conscious of the limited time frame, but if I knew Raptor, she’d be a bro- probably already slowed our roll just to let us have a little personal time. 

That didn’t mean I was going to ask him to stop, though. Hell, he might not even if I did. It had been a long damn time since someone made my knees go weak, and he’d only been at it a few seconds, but he already had me clutching the rigging to stay on my feet and groaning at the ceiling. If I felt dizzy before, now my head was spinning like I’d drunk half a bottle of tequila, and he wasn’t letting up. There was sweat on my face by now, I was gritting my teeth to try to keep the noise to a minimum and I was pretty sure I was going to feel my soul leave my body in another second if he didn’t slow down, so I yanked on his hair - as sharply as I dared - to try to make him let go. 

It had the exact opposite effect. The fingers around my arm dug in, he wrapped his arm around my waist, and he held me in place as he swallowed my cock right down to the root. I felt myself hit the back of his throat, the short, blissful pressure of it closing around the tip, and that was all I could handle- I came so hard I nearly blacked out, and by the time I got a hold of myself I was collapsed into his lap, panting, with my head on his shoulder. Holy. Shit. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say I hadn’t gotten it that good in years. 

The only thing I could think to say, with my head still reeling and my thighs still vaguely sore from tensing so hard, was, “You didn’t have to do that.” Most guys would have already been pushing my head down to have their turn. Hunk was relaxed enough to give me a minute to recover, though he was clearly still hard. 

He just shrugged after a moment. “You didn’t have to come back.”

As if that was all the explanation needed. Maybe it was, for him. 

It wasn’t good enough for me, but now probably wasn’t the time to argue. Pelayo was a bro, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. She could stall for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and I wasn’t the type of guy to accept a blow n’ go just for doing my job. I sank to my knees as soon as I had caught my breath, even though Hunk was still holding onto my arm. 

Well, let him. I just let it rest on his stomach as I spit on my palm and did my best to clean off some of the sanitizer before I let his cock slide down my throat. It still tasted like alcohol and moisturizer, and the smell of sewer wasn’t completely gone, but I can’t honestly say I haven’t had worse. All it meant was when I came back up to spit out the saliva in my mouth, I couldn’t help laughing a bit, “You know, I went gay to avoid the smell of rotting pussy. …This sure isn’t helping.”

“You’re still down there, though.” It was so low I barely heard it, but I heard the grin in it all the same - it was just as evident in the way he shifted his knees apart expectantly. And he was right. He had me pegged from the beginning, maybe. Just looking up at that cock glistening in the low light had my mouth watering, and I wasn’t wasting any more time. There was still the faint hint of chemicals on it, but I could work past it now, and I was determined to give as good as I got. Hunk might have his tricks, but I had mine. 

His cock was thick, curved, and a little harder to swallow than usual, but with effort I could still get my nose to touch his hair and my chin to rest on his balls - which I did as soon as I got it in my mouth - to the satisfying tune of an ecstatic groan. When I was sure he was rock hard and throbbing once more, I let myself pull back to concentrate on slicking down the head until I could feel his abs start tensing and his breaths start coming in gasps. If we had more time, I would have started to jerk myself off again at how hot he looked laid out against the seat with his head tossed back, but we probably only had minutes to finish this, and I wasn’t going to let him go without getting him off. 

Again, Hunk managed to surprise me. His hand came to rest in my hair, but instead of clamping onto the back of my head to force it lower he simply ran his fingers through it in time with his moans, tugging it gently when I did something he really liked. There was only one other person who ever did something like that; the memory of it simultaneously twisted my gut into knots and made me lose my breath with old lust. It was all I could do not to climb into his lap right then and there; instead I felt his heels scrape the floor with how tight and desperate I had suddenly gotten. It was his turn to pant and kick and squirm under me, and now I was the one clinging to his waist… but it probably wasn’t for the same reason as before.

I just didn’t want to think about it anymore. Any of this. Just let me lose myself for a few seconds, and not remember. Words that were too similar for me to leave this time. Words I just wanted to forget. 

_Nighthawk, go. Get out, Jason. Leave._

I nearly choked, then. On emotion, or because Hunk was close to coming, it was hard to say which. I wasn’t stopping, though. The fingers twisting in my hair grew more insistent - as good as any other way of telling me he was close - so I did the only thing I could to keep it together: brought my face down low again to let him back into my throat. Let him fuck it if he wanted to, to bring himself over the edge. Maybe he was too polite to do it without an invitation, but the second he hit my throat, as close to losing it as he was… I felt those few, satisfying thrusts I was looking for and that hand clamped down hard in the back of my hair just like I was used to. 

There. No mistaking this for anything else, now. Just a quick one for the road, right? We’ll never have to talk about this again. I could go back to bitter misery, and the Grim Reaper would live to see another day. 

When he pulled me to my feet, I thought he was just going to say thank you. Maybe try to make awkward conversation for a minute before letting me go to fly the bird. His hand hadn’t left my arm this whole time… maybe that was just his way of making sure I wasn’t going to do something he didn’t want. I thought he was going to do anything except what he did: held me by my arm, and the back of my head, and kissed me. Not just a quick peck to say thanks… something far more dangerous. Lingering. 

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Part of me really did want to meet death that day. Part of me knew all it would take would be to go back for a survivor, stay a little too long in the blast zone… watch the city turn to glass before being flung out of the air. It wouldn’t be today, I guess. We all heard the explosion behind us, and Pelayo swore over the radio as the helicopter swung in the air, but we stayed aloft. Hunk still hadn’t let me go.

_Why’d you come back?_

Maybe some other day, Mr. Reaper.


	2. Transmission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Doctor, 
> 
> Quarantine procedure for patients 000274 and 000275 is complete. No sign of active infection noted; viral titers undetectable. Additional serology and cultures are pending. No follow up actions for R/D. 
> 
> Subject status: Uninfected. Cleared for return to active duty.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> [redacted]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter follow those in [Decontamination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283427) by [arienai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arienai/pseuds/arienai)

_“Hawk, are you-“_

_“Not now.” Pelayo fell silent. Nighthawk’s hand was resting on the controls- his tone left no room for argument. There was a subtle tremor in his wrist that gradually ascended as the seconds steadily expired. She waited until his whole arm had begun to shake up to the shoulder._

_“Countdown’s started, Hawk. T minus ten minutes until launch.” The report was as bland and brief as possible. It had to be. When Hawk swallowed, they could both practically hear it over the airwaves on the open channel. It was punctuated when she reached over to tap the keys, and the numbers flared to life on the overhead monitor, resolutely ticking down to apocalypse._

_Nighthawk let them slip by for another few moments. Shook his head. Reached up to unclip his flight helmet and shove it away, so the readout wouldn’t play in front of his vision. Tried a chuckle that sounded dry, even in his own throat._

_“He’ll be there. Five bucks on my life. He’s going to make it.” Though it was choked out in the same voice he’d used a moment earlier, it sounded more controlled this time. Less desperate._

_“Jason… we should lea-“_

_“He’ll **make it**.” The debate was over. When Hawk’s hand moved on the throttle and the helicopter began to turn, the finality was clear to both of them. They were going back. _

_The lights of Raccoon City, on fire, were gleaming pinpricks in an endless, yawning void._

 

* * * 

 

This place was the kind of scene I would never have been caught dead in under normal circumstances.

The Hotel Jonquilles Suites - with it’s “stunning” seventeen gala ballrooms-slash-conference venues, “premiere” services, and Cocktail dress code - had initially sounded about as much fun as volunteering to sweep the range floor after Umbrella Security Services target practice: full of nothing but trash and used up empty shells. 

I couldn’t tell a lie… I took one look at the annual staff appreciation Christmas party invitation and almost wrote it off. If not for three beautiful little words at the bottom of the page: Free. Open. Bar. It might be shameful to admit, but that was all it took. I was in. 

It didn’t take much convincing for Pelayo to RSVP either; as soon as she heard Cynthia from Marketing was planning to be there, wild horses couldn’t have kept her away. She’d had her eye on that chick for nearly a year, and fuck if I know what goes into it, but they had been doing some kind of lesbian mating dance for what seemed like damn near as long as it would take a hetero couple to pop out a fucking infant. As soon as I knew she was going, my fate was sealed. We would be kicking off 1998 in more style than the last three years combined. 

…No offense, abuelita. Pelayo family holidays were fine and all, but they didn’t come with same-faced waiters carrying champagne flutes, caviar, hors d’oeuvres, and who-knows-what else. They certainly didn’t come with a massive ice sculpture of a DNA helix surrounded by red and white poinsettias in the shape of the company logo, and an octet playing live carols. And that was just one of the rooms. 

For all it said on the invitation that this was the Umbrella Western Regional Branch party, I hadn’t even considered what that meant before I got here. What it did mean was that when we arrived - only ten minutes late so I could scope out a good seat at the bar - all seventeen of those ballrooms and conference rooms were already half full to capacity, and about seventy percent of the occupants were faces I had never seen before in my life. It was barely kicking off, but there must have been damn near a thousand people here already. 

I didn’t care, though. I found the main bar in the central hall, saw that it still had a free stool at the far end, and made my mark. The only rough part about the evening was having to find the single suit I owned shoved away in the back of my closet, get it out, and discover that it was maybe a size too big in the shoulders. It didn’t really matter. Once the jacket was hanging over the back of my chair, claiming my spot, it had done its job. It still looked better than Pelayo had when she’d tried on the dress she had similarly stashed away in case of emergency; where I’d lost weight she’d gained it, and the sparkly tube top probably would have seemed less out of place on professional football players.

She was taking her own advice tonight. Even though she was officially my plus one for the evening, Pelyao rolled up at my apartment in a suit of her own with a fresh haircut, looking ready to pull some tail. The second I was all settled in at the bar was the second her time with me was over and was instead singularly devoted to nice ass in tight dresses. 

“Hawk, you good here?” I waved her off before she could finish. 

“Go have fun.” My attention was singularly on my first drink order. We both had our valet slips tucked safely away in our pockets, so whatever either of us got up to tonight, we’d be able to at least find our way back to Pelayo’s car. 

I don’t even think she heard what I had to say, though. She wasn’t small, but the back of Pelayo’s head had disappeared so fast in the crowd that by the time I turned to see which direction she was heading I caught about half a millisecond of familiar high-and-tight and shoulder pads, and that was it. Nothing left to do but put my hand up for the bartender and get started. 

“And what will the gentleman be having?” This counter was the largest one, which meant it had five people working it. First up to my end was a tall guy with slicked hair and double-breasted waistcoat, starched to within an inch of its life. 

“Vodka martini, dry.” 

I’ll admit it was a pretense. Within the next few hours that order would devolve straight into shots of tequila, but I figured I might as well try to start off the evening with a _little_ class. Plus, while my new best friend went away to mix it, it gave me a chance to check out the room. There were probably around two hundred bodies in it by my estimate, and I felt a little lost until a few familiar faces bounced over; a couple of support staff from the training centre with their hair up, new blonde dye jobs, and their tits out. Clearly it wasn’t just Pelayo who was planning to get laid tonight. I wanted to say their names were Jennifer or Jessica or something, but I was pulling that directly out of my ass. 

They didn’t even notice me without my flight gear on anyway, as it turned out. Too busy chatting excitedly to each other while they ordered their cosmos. 

“… _fourteen_ of them, Becky.” The slightly-more-blonde one had a conspiratorial look, but the music and the crowd, and the fact that she already probably had a few drinks in her made it so her “whisper” was more than enough to carry over to my end of the bar. “They _just_ got back from that island or whatever. You know, where all those prisoners committed suicide?”

“Oh yeah. I heard about that. Really sad.” Becky was solemnly pretending to care. 

“ _Any_ way,” Blondie - way less concerned about fronting - continued, “that’s like at least _fifteen_ Forces guys coming. They _just_ got back from a mission… Now’s your chance, girl!”

“Look, Jen, it’s not that I don’t think they’re hot-“ she was grimacing at her girlfriend, but the rebuke was lost when the drinks arrived and they promptly turned their backs, melding into the crush of people.

My own drink had appeared on the chrome counter in front of me some time during that exchange, and I couldn’t help craning my neck to look around the room while I had my first sip. 

Three things came to mind: one, one of them actually _was_ a Jennifer; two, the details of the latest clean up effort had finally filtered down to the public, and apparently were officially being written off as mass suicide; and three… the rest of the USS team was going to be here. Well, well. 

 

_“Well, we’re coworkers so, your loss. Can't just fuck and chuck now.” Hunk’s arm rested heavily on Hawk’s chest. Almost as heavy as the irony of the sentiment after waking up still covered in sweat and … less innocuous substances from hours earlier._

_“Who said I was going to?” he sounded sincere, but he couldn’t have missed the sarcasm. Hunk wound up speaking to the floor as he reached to rifle around in what the guys on guard duty had allowed him of his kit, “If anything, you’re going to fuck and chuck me.”_

_He found what he was looking for, fished it out of a pocket, and added, “Now that you’ve banged the Reaper.”_

_“Ahahahahah!” Hawk’s laughter shook the cot. “That's some pretty high self-regard there.” The lighter from before was probably somewhere in the sheets. He groped around to look for it._

_“Or do operators get groupies these days?”_

_“Who knows? Apparently.” He still sounded sincere, but also unconcerned. “You’re the one who said you wanted to meet the Reaper.” Hawk guessed he was more invested in trying to roll another one of his herbs with only the one free hand. He found the lighter at last and tossed it onto his chest._

_“So, the Grim Reaper has guys lining up around the block to hop on his dick because he's got a nick name?” Hawk snorted._

_“Uh, well, I have some decent spec pay and people know who I am…” Hunk paused to lick the paper and inspect his handiwork. Hawk couldn’t roll his eyes any harder if he tried._

_“Right. Hazard pay really gets 'em wet,” his skepticism was palpable, “that's why everyone wants to date oil rig workers.”_

_Hunk took less time to consider that than Hawk expected; a second later he shrugged, “I’d date a rig worker. We'd probably have a lot in common. Bachelor, away all the time, nothing to spend their money on…”_

_“Yeah? The ideal man is around for a few months out of the year and otherwise it's all phone sex?” Hawk was aware that skepticism was starting to turn into incredulous disapproval, but Hunk didn’t seem abashed._

_“...Yes? Who has time for any other kind of relationship?”_

_“Huh. Well, that's... practical.” Disapproval quietly dissolved into disappointment._

_“The only people I’m ever around more than a few weeks of the year are my coworkers.” the statement was matter-of-fact. Hard to tell if Hunk noticed the shift in tone._

_Just in case, Hawk tried to keep the hopeful note out of his voice, “Not into other operators, then?”_

_“No, that's shitting where you eat.” Hunk replied, flat and immediate. “Besides, two of the guys on Alpha team were Catholic.” When he trailed off, Hawk read the sentiment loud and clear._

_“Just best not to risk it. Maybe they wouldn't care, maybe they would.” Hunk found the lighter, inspected it. Seemed satisfied, either with it, or with the last part of his explanation. “Needless distraction.”_

_After five years of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Hawk didn’t need any more of one. Some things, you just took at face value. “…Sure. On the DL. Got it.”_

 

I realized suddenly, staring into my drink, that all that had been weeks ago. Five… six of them, now? As soon as our seven days of quarantine were up, we were both whisked away by separate teams. Debrief - which had itself waited until they were beyond certain neither of us was about to start biting anyone - lasted almost as long as the decon procedure had; teams of scientists, suits, and recruits to interview. Other teams - lawyers, company spooks - flown in to bring me up to speed on a fuckload of Umbrella’s darkest little secrets. I guess the fact that we’d seen the outbreak meant new security clearance, and Pelayo had already gotten her own spiel.

Yeah, now that I thought about it- six weeks. Jesus. All that time spent turning me into a personal chauffer for all of Umbrella’s black ops; I barely had time to wonder what Hunk had been up to. I hadn’t seen him since we parted- I’d barely seen any of the R&D personnel I was supposedly working with now. 

More faces I vaguely recognized floated past the bar and... speak of the fucking devil. Two nondescript, plain navy pantsuits in a sea of holiday ties, Santa hats, and reindeer headbands. One had a very familiar set of wire-rimmed glasses, and a tight, no-nonsense bun that looked far less disheveled than it had when we first met.

“…impeached.” She was saying. She wore the same tight-lipped expression. Hadn’t even looked in my direction yet, entirely engrossed in conversation with an Asian guy who I guessed was her colleague. I finished my drink and waved for another, wondering if she’d notice me there.

Not even half a chance. Her attention was now divided between the other scientist’s response - which I didn’t quite catch - her ire, and the bar; she snapped her fingers after about two seconds when no one instantly leapt to her service. By now that frown was distinct and, “Chardonnay,” was the only thing she spat at the bartender before resuming her thoughts. 

“Some fabricated sex scandal. Utterly absurd. Our work _depends_ on the support of the current administration. There are only so many research facilities we can outsource.” There were deep lines at the corners of her mouth. Avoiding her, I tipped my drink up as I passed her line of sight. I might’ve accidentally finished it before she turned around and left briskly, still muttering. 

“We can’t afford the setback, not at a time like-”

 

_“This is, of course, only a minor precaution in your case; our data is putative at this point, but preliminary results indicate that viral transmission prior to symptomatic infection is negligible.” The end of the pen she was holding had a few sets of tooth marks in it. Hawk refrained from asking if biting inanimate objects was one of the symptoms._

_Instead, he cocked his head. “Preliminary? You’re_ testing _if zombie viruses are sexually transmitted, now?”_

 _“_ Of course _not,” Her withering look could have curdled milk. “Hence the term putative.” Hawk wasn’t entirely convinced, but he knew when not to push it._

_“Okay. Fine.” He breathed, which drew out into a halfhearted laugh. “Just… how will I know?”_

_Long seconds passed while they regarded each other. To Hawk, it seemed almost like she was looking at him for the first time. He studied her badge: R. Kumar, PhD. Research and Development. Pity flashed in her eyes before she could quell it._

_The next words came on the end of a tired sigh, “…You’ll know. The process is generally extremely rapid, and visual signs… are not subtle. They do tend to be somewhat variable, but it often begins with skin pallor, usually with a greyish cast. Sometimes jaundice. Conjunctival suffusion may be present.” She laid her hands on the desk, pausing for a moment._

_“These initial signs are usually not detectable to the infected individual. Often the first complaint is a burning or tingling sensation at the site of inoculation, followed by fatigue, restlessness, fever… it progresses swiftly to sustained generalized itching, confusion, delirium.” Harsh reality softened her voice._

_“The end stage tends to include seizure, coma, necrotic tissue changes, and multi-organ failure. Established infection is around ninety-eight percent fatal.” Hawk felt his shoulders sink._

_With the next words, the last of her scientific demeanor was gone. “…Between you and I, though… you’ll probably know just by scent. It’s the first thing I notice. Have you ever smelled a dead animal?”_

_All he could do was stare on as she joylessly reassured him, “You’ll know.”_

 

I downed the next drink as soon as it arrived. Held my fingers up for two more before Mr. Waistcoat could go anywhere. He was obviously a real professional; didn’t even blink at the display, simply nodded with practiced geniality and whisked away to make them. At some point the liquor in my glass had switched from vodka with dry vermouth to tequila, neat. I didn’t remember changing my order. Was I stealing someone else’s drink? 

It didn’t take long for me to decide I didn’t care- someone had called off the orchestra and turned on the dance music. The hall was getting crowded, I was finally starting to feel a buzz starting in my temples, a pleasant numbness and warmth bloomed in my cheeks, and- 

Loud voices snapped me back to sobriety: just about a dozen twenty-to-thirty-somethings with hair in various stages of shaved, were barging straight through the wall of bodies thronging the dance floor. The fucking cavalry had arrived. I only recognized a few of them, but anyone could tell the new USS recruits on sight. Half of them looked fresh out of basic, the other half like they’d just got back from Mogadishu; the latter were probably more than old enough to have seen Desert Storm. Unfortunately, a few of them recognized me and barrelled over to interrupt my drinking. 

“Ho _shit_ , Nighthawk!” Most of this group were on the younger side of twenty, and I was absolutely fucked if I remembered any of their names, but I was treated to a bone-jarring slap on the back and a chain of fist bumps anyway. “What you doing chilling over here, homie? Come join the party.”

My next round of drinks arrived just then, thank hell. I held one up congenially, knocked it back, then held up the other to a holler of approving laughter. “I’m good, thanks.” 

The youngest guy, who went by awkward handle ‘Meat’, looked not a day past eighteen. He was plainly out of place in the pack, retaining just enough of his gangly teenage body to look completely ridiculous in a sport jacket. He looked around, and when the ruckus had subsided asked innocently, “Where’s your girlfriend?” 

Poor fucker; guess no one had filled him in yet. He even managed to be dead-ass oblivious to the snickers from a few of the guys who had been around a little longer. For my part I pretended not to notice one of them turn and mouth ‘ _homo_ ’, or the startled disbelief on face of the recipient. 

 

_“Aren't you supposed to romance yourself or some shit? Bubble baths, fancy dinner, et cetera?” How they got on this topic was anyone’s guess. Something to fill air time while Hawk gently undid the back of Hunk’s gown. He winced at the angry yellow-purple splotches on his shoulders and neck._

 _“That's one way to say get high and play video games.” The bite marks no longer looked as red as they had the first night, if anything it was turning into a bruise the same shade as the rest of his back. If it hurt much, Hunk wasn’t showing it._

_He hardly even seemed to notice while Hawk uncapped the ointment and squeezed a solid line onto his shoulder blades, “Hahah what, no hobbies? No wine tastings and jazz clubs?”_

_“Time at the range, running, hiking.” after a moment’s consideration, “Museums sometimes, when I get overseas deployment. Or pictures of food.”_

_“Pictures, huh? You could… uh… take pictures of flowers? Maybe that's a bit girly. Pictures of local cats?” Hawk thought he detected a hint of a sigh when he started to spread the line out over Hunk’s skin with his hands. It felt cool against the natural warmth. Tingled slightly. He was barely paying attention to the conversation, just running his mouth to no one, when Hunk muttered under his breath, “Food is a hobby.”_

_“Pictures of local di-_ what the fuck _no it isn't.”_

_“It's called being a foodie; you take pictures of food and try to reconstruct it.”_

_“Who would- How would you even begin to...” Hawk barely managed a reply through the increasing haze of bewilderment._

_“Man's gotta eat,” Hunk said._

_It took a whole minute for Hawk to collect his thoughts on that one. Try to come up with a smart response. When nothing came to him, he just resumed applying the pain killer with a shrug, “So, the Grim Reaper cooks then, is that the message.”_

_“Of course he does. I have to eat well for my job and I don't have a girlfriend.” By now he could tell it was working; muscle that had been like rock a few seconds ago grew pliant beneath careful fingertips._

_“Well... if it doesn't come with microwave directions I can't cook it, so you’re already beating me there.” Hunk visibly relaxed, leaning forward on his knees. Hawk’s chagrin dissipated._

_“That's no way to live.” The sincerity was back, “But pilots always have an easy time getting laid, so why not get a girlfriend?”_

_Hawk could tell the question was completely genuine, so he did an intentionally poor job of feigning incomprehension: “Hmmm good question.”_

_He trailed off with an air of showmanship, “Why might that be...?” made sure he laid it on thick enough there was no chance Hunk wouldn’t pick up on the sarcasm, then chose a good safe spot to give the back of his head a friendly shove. “Probably the whole liking dick thing.”_

_Hunk chuckled, caught Hawk’s arm to drape it loosely over his chest. Tipped his head back and pressed idle lips to his throat._

 

The fourth - fifth? - drink went down as quick as the last one. On my tongue the hard-sought fire dulled to soft smoke, which meant I should probably slow down, but everyone was still staring while they waited for me to answer. 

“Jesus, kid. I don’t know where Pelayo went. Off to the little girl’s room? Do you send a spy copter out after your girlfriend every time she goes to piss?” This wasn’t the military. I didn’t need plausible deniability. No one was going to pull me aside to ‘chat’ or start investigating rumours… but I remembered what Hunk said.

Meat’s buddies on the other hand, started right in with the ribbing while I signaled the bartender over their heads for two more. From my periphery I watched disbelief deepen in the other new guy’s eyes until it was nothing but mild suspicion and distrust for the intel he’d just received; maybe his newly-acquainted team mate was hazing him, trying to get him to piss off the pilot. 

 

_”So, Mr. Reaper. You have your shit together, you’re getting paid, and you can cook.” They moved apart briefly. Hawk sat back on his heels; Hunk threw his gown back over his shoulders. “Why don't you have a girlfriend?”_

_“No time, no interest,” the blunt reply was, nevertheless, tinged with faint relief to Hawk- who hadn’t even been sure he was single in the first place. He loosed the breath he’d been holding a moment ago._

_“Being the Grim Reaper seems to attract more male attention than it does women.”_

_“But no boyfriend either.”_

_His back was still turned, but Hawk saw the frown in Hunk’s voice as soon as he opened his mouth, “Uh, yeah. Umbrella is progressive but it's best not to be out at work when somebody could shoot you in the spine.”_

_“Hah. Nobody shoots the pilot.” More statement than joke, it met a general air of agreement regardless._

_“No friendlies, anyway,” Hunk echoed. “That'd be one hell of a self-own.”_

_“One way ticket to Shit Creek_ forever _, man.” Hawk confirmed, ending the call-and-response: “Pilots talk.”_

 

If anyone had anything else to say, I didn’t have a chance to hear it. Over at the DJ booth the song ending heralded a cheery voice; it cut right through the buzz I had been carefully cultivating for the better part of the evening. 

“Your attention, everyone.” 

I thought I vaguely recognized it. Kathy? Karen? One of the PR reps who would drop by the training center every New Years looking for press kit volunteer models. She was holding a mic. Blood red lips, a voice that could split eardrums, and heels sharp enough to impale yourself on. “I have a special announcement! It’s time for our favorite annual Umbrella Family Holiday Party event: Secret Santa.” 

She paused for applause. A few raucous whoops went up from the back of the room, and I was pretty sure I heard someone yell ‘take it off’. Ignoring it, she continued, “This year will include a raffle for an all-inclusive romantic trip for two to scenic Harrison Hot Springs Resort and Spa-” a cheer of approval cut her off momentarily, “…just a short Northerly flight, courtesy of our partners at Tundra Airlines.” 

Mr. Waistcoat hadn’t stopped to listen to the sales pitch, bless him. I turned back to the bar, intent on blocking out the rest of it, and he was right there with my drinks. Both tequila shots. I blinked at them for a moment, uncomprehending. This time I was _sure_ I didn’t change my order… but it was my usual. Either he was reading my mind, or …had we met before, somehow? A quick glance at his face revealed nothing. Total stranger. 

I wasn’t in any state to argue, though. All I wanted to do was nab them and slip away before anyone could drag me into- 

_Fuck_. While I had been gaping like an idiot Karen had been reading out room assignments by department; she got to ours just as I slid off my stool and felt two ham-sized palms clamp down on my shoulders. “Let’s go dude, that’s us.” They just about yanked me off my feet before I could even get out a protest; the recruits were in high spirits and I was getting hauled off through the mob with the efficiency of the team clearing a building. I had my shots in both hands, and I barely had time to put both down my throat before I stumbled. Lost one of the empty glasses underfoot. 

Oops. Well, someone was going to find it, and I was still being pushed along by a troop of laughing rookies like this was a Saturday night bar crawl.

It wasn’t far to where the Security Services primary operations and support staff were sequestered - presumably as far as possible from the public divisions in case any of us was drunk enough to start running our mouths about corporate spec ops - but it suddenly seemed like an arduous task to get there. Somewhere between now and the last two drinks my legs decided they were on notice. …This _may_ have been a mistake. 

Oh well. I was committed now. 

Thankfully someone shoved my ass onto a couch before I could fall over. There was a tree next to me – white, metallic red, and silver; very on brand – and one of the older, grey-haired secretaries was calling out names. I cast about for Pelayo and found that she’d similarly gotten the press gang treatment: she was being pulled to the other side of the room, but instead of being herded by gym rats she had a petite redhead with a lower back tattoo on her arm. Didn’t seem half as bothered; she shot me a wink when our eyes met. I gave her a big thumbs up. 

The invitation had specified “gifts below a twenty-dollar value only” and since the name in my email didn’t really ring a bell, I figured a mid-range bottle of Schnapps wouldn’t go amiss. Only the most sophisticated newspaper comic page wrapping would do for yours truly; I immediately noticed when mine got picked up and passed to the other end of the room. Whoever got it must have appreciated it- I couldn’t really tell where exactly it wound up, but an excited “Sweet, alcohol!” carried back to me over the growing sounds of chatter. Clearly, like myself, they were a true connoisseur. 

 

_“Cooking is something grownups do.” Hunk was mocking him now; dark eyes sparkled over a playful grin._

_“Fuck right off, I’m a goddamn adult.” Hawk’s retort was only a little bitter. “...Just never learned how to do it.”_

_“Well then,” Hunk mirthfully decided for both of them, “you’re cooking on our first date.” Cocking his head, he obligingly added, “That would be the adult thing to do.”_

_“Ok, sure,” his expression hemorrhaged non-amusement, “do you prefer Hungry Man or Banquet?”_

_“Whatever you think is going to get you laid.”_

_Hawk didn’t need a moment this time. “Mm hm,” flat agreement, with just a hint of self-deprecation: “Bottle of vodka then.”_

 

I was really starting to feel it now. 

Shit. 

Yeah… those last two drinks were a mistake. At least, those last two drinks in quick succession. No one would notice if I just leaned over on the couch a little, right? The USS guys were too busy chatting amongst themselves, still way too loud to care if one of the pilots was a little quiet. I heard someone call out Pelayo’s name, and weighing the options, decided it was worth the effort to lift my head up and see what she’d received. 

My eyes caught up to my skull just in time to watch her open a box and see her erupt into vocal outrage. 

“What the actual _fuck_!?” The girls around her, intrigued, leaned to peer into the parcel and suddenly that entire corner broke out in fits of squealing laughter.

“Which one of you motherfuckers-” Never a fan of the discreet approach, Pelayo was on her feet in seconds, flopping a hot pink lifelike dildo in the air in front of her - which must have been at least fifteen inches - with its price tag still attached. The entire room exploded. 

“I fucking **swear** ,” she was yelling to be heard above the uproar. Whistles, cat-calls, shoving; everyone trying to figure out the perpetrator at once, the prime suspects vehemently denying their guilt, “I’m using this on whichever asshole-”

I had to laugh. She couldn’t have been that mad, or she’d already be trying to choke out whichever idiot looked like the most likely target. 

 

_In his sleep, he looked normal. Skin that was unblemished, save for the patch of redness on his shoulder. Eyes closed, so he couldn’t see whether they’d taken on a yellow cast or gone blood shot. Hawk had never considered himself a small man, but even beneath the gown the other’s physique stood out in stark relief._

_His chest rose and fell slowly. Thin fabric did little to conceal a densely muscled frame. Hunk must have least fifty… maybe closer to seventy pounds on him. None of it was fat._

_There was no sound when he breathed, save the faintest rush of air. The halls had been silent for hours; no one standing guard now except the security cameras. The room they shared was just large enough for two pullout cots and a space to step between them. The bathroom had a shower and a toilet, but no door, save for a solitary plastic sheet- the very same which covered the walls and floor. No chance of escape, and no place to barricade himself. No weapons._

_He kept one eye on the body in the other cot while he checked the clock. It was hour twenty-eight._

_Hunk rolled over in his sleep. Hawk held his breath._

I blinked. A package had appeared in my lap. The noise of the hall was near deafening with voices and laughter, and someone shook my shoulder to shout, “Open it!” at me. It was an unfamiliar face. 

I obliged anyway. It was a small box, plain silver wrapping. Couldn’t have held much. No name tag, but then, I didn’t know why I expected one. I shook it, and something rattled heavily inside. …Two things? When no image sprung to mind, I decided I’d had enough of guessing. Ripped open the box.

Instantly, my face felt hot. 

_Lips bared teeth that scraped against his Adam’s apple. Bit gently. He held his breath, and his heart thrummed so hard he could feel it pulse in his fingertips, which dipped down, down, to strip the gown aside. His abdomen was all hard, pleasurable ridges. He knew exactly how they felt when they were pressed against him- leisurely, carelessly bringing him to oblivion._

_The teeth sunk in harder. Choked out his breath in a short gasp. Arms that lifted him effortlessly - as if he weighed nothing - took hold of him and pinned him to the wall._

_Hawk’s fingertips found purchase, wrought out a low moan when they brushed over coarse hair… curled around smooth flesh, and squeezed. Harder. Until he made him let go to groan against his shoulder, until his grip pulsed, his palm was slippery, and his breath puffed hot against his neck. Fluttered his hair._

_He shut his eyes. His own erection dripped against his knuckles, thighs tensed. He forced his aching fist open, hooked his ankle around the back of his thigh, and brought them roughly together. Rode out a dizzying wave of shaky anticipation. Sweet sickness. They moved together, and his grasp tightened once more. Hands that could break him dug into his hips- forced them so close it was suffocating. Gasps as the friction built up turned into moans into cries into – ah,_ fuck _, yes-_

_The edges of his consciousness were decaying. Far away echoes of pain as his back scraped against plastic and cement; teeth fixed around his collar bone, bruising, pulling, biting, grinding out crashing waves that sucked the life out of him and left him trapped against the shore. It hurt._

_It felt so. Good._

_His legs shook. Eyes shot open. He gripped the shoulder in front of him for life. Gave his last breath to cry out- dying- please-_

 

Through the commotion and racket I was left staring into the opened gift. Meat must have noticed the look on my face, because I caught sight of him when he entered my peripheral vision, and it brought me back to reality. He was peering quizzically, “Everything okay, Nighthawk?” 

I shook my head ‘yes’ dumbly. Reached into the tiny cardboard container and pulled out my prize. Held it up to show what it was I’d gotten. 

Meat scratched his head. “…Weird.” He turned back to what he was doing. 

I dropped the little bottle of hand sanitizer back into the box. It clacked dully off the other object inside. I waited until I was absolutely _one hundred percent_ certain that no one else was looking in my direction, reached in once more, and pocketed the hotel room key. 

 

* * * 

 

_“Why’d you come back?”_

_Hunk’s eyes were slipping shut. Hawk was inclined to let them. It had been thirty-seven hours since they left Raccoon City, and his own eyelids felt like lead. He hadn’t slept yet._

_Their faces were inches apart, now. Close enough to feel him exhale. He watched as pleasure swiftly faded, dark lips grew pale, and fine lines around his eyes disappeared. The air was thick with smoke; the scent of it lulled him into a numb, blissful daze that drove the tension out of his back. Let him lay his head against the pillow, finally, and relax._

_He moved closer, wrapped himself up in the other. If they were infected, they were infected. If Hunk was, and he wasn’t- Well, it would be a painful way to go, but the universe was even, now._

_“I had to.” The truth, even if he wasn’t sure he heard it. “I would be dead otherwise.”_

_On the edges of his senses, traces of decay - the scent of a dead animal - burned his nostrils._

_He breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, and slept._


	3. Latency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Re:[Re: Minor concern]]
> 
> mike i hear what your saying. the implications of this shouldn’t be ignored, but we have no reason to believe that’s possible we already know fomite transmission is next to nil percent. we had judys team working on this from day one and they have some very convincing data that would suggest your view is an overtly conservative one. its a commendible level of caution but ultimately unwarranted
> 
> thank you for your report
> 
> F Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very mild trigger warning for this chapter: tertiary mention of sexual violence.

 

No one noticed me leaving the party. 

I don’t know how I managed it, but I made it up to the room. The number was etched on the key in gold lettering. Seventh floor. I blinked, and that number was mirrored in a white façade over a wrought iron handle with daffodils climbing the arches. I didn’t remember how I got there. There was a peep hole, but I couldn’t see inside. I steadied myself on the frame for a second to breathe. Closed my eyes. Willed my head to stop swimming. 

It was unlocked. The handle depressed gently; no sound heralded me when the door swung inward. Cold brushed over my face and tingled on my lips. For a moment it seemed like there was no one inside, I wondered if I somehow had the wrong place, then movement caught my eye- the curtain slowly billowing out from a breeze infiltrating through the open window. 

I shut the door. Hesitated. There was still no sign of life, until the curtain fell away and a scent came with it. Pungent, sweet, and familiar.

Hunk was leaning out into the night air. His back was to me, but it was him, unmistakably. Wisps of smoke drifted past his shoulders. A shirt that looked too tight – creased fabric around the arms and the outline of his shoulder blades visible – pants that looked even tighter, and a black evening jacket tossed aside on the sill. Even if I hadn’t been drunk, I would have stared. Until now I had only ever seen him in his kit or… _less_ … but that suit seemed painted on. He leaned out further to exhale, and the muscle in his ass and thighs played under the fabric. 

I was still swaying a little on my feet. Half tripping over myself. He must have seen me by now; he turned with his rolled herb still held between his fingers, but he kept his face craned into the wind. I caught myself on the pane just before I fell into him and mumbled an apology. Those last two drinks really were a mistake, but since I couldn’t take them back now, I figured I could only make up for it. 

“You’re drunk.” I think he was smiling, but the square inch of flesh above his collar and just below his ear lobe was tantalizing. It tasted even better than it looked.

The distracted groan let me get my hands around the back of his thighs, “You’re one to talk.” Smoke clung to him thickly; even with the breeze I felt it singe my mouth and nose when I got close. “I didn’t know you would be here.” 

He raised the herb to his lips- nothing but a short ember that flared from red to white-orange in a long inhalation. I leaned forward and caught his chin. Fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck under a crush of open mouths and the exchange of fragrant, choking heat. Bitterer than last time. A faint flavour on his tongue… ginger? 

I inhaled readily, quickly growing used to the shared high, but this time it stung- my throat itched, and I couldn’t hold it. I coughed, pulled back and doubled over while Hunk laughed. By the time I could manage to stop long enough to pull in air there were black spots in my vision. My whole body was tingling. If I was dizzy before, now I could barely manage to stay on my feet. 

It didn’t matter. Hunk could have carried three of me without breaking a sweat; keeping me up with an arm around my waist was nothing. His lips were still wet but now there were droplets of water glittering on his face. I realized, belatedly, that it was falling from my own hair. My bangs were wet. 

 

_The hotel bathroom is empty. There is a row of sinks, and he stumbles toward the nearest one and fumbles both taps on until the water is cascading, steaming into the basin. Tests a handful. Too warm. Turns one of the taps off and sticks his hand under to test it again. Scalds himself. Swears under his breath and wrenches on the other one until the water is ice cold, then shoves his burned hand into the stream. Once it stops throbbing, he joins his palms and throws the contents into his face._

_There aren’t any towels. Water drips from his eyelashes, rolls down his chin, and soaks his shirt. He curses again, gropes blindly for the closest stall and shuts the door behind him._

 

“How many did you have?” Those lips were grinning. Hunk didn’t look concerned; not that I could tell. 

I wasn’t even sure I could remember at this point, so I shrugged and caught his mouth before he could ask anything else. Edged the tip of my tongue in a slow circle… then ducked away when he tried to close the distance between us. Ginger. And something else; the thought was gone in another second. Under my palms his thighs tensed when he eased himself off the sill- they slipped seamlessly over smooth fabric until I got what I’d been waiting for. His cock was already tenting the front of his slacks when our hips met, and I kneaded deliciously firm muscle between my fingers while we ground to hardness briefly. Kept my head tipped back just enough so that he couldn’t quite reach to swallow my tongue, teasing. 

He had had enough. A stark grip on my shirt so I couldn’t retreat from the hot fullness of flesh in my mouth. I was tripping on my heels with my hands still grasping his hip and squeezing his ass, but Hunk walked me steadily backward by my collar. My calves hit something soft, and then I was on my back- pressed under the full weight of him. Hardly had time to gasp. Teeth closed around my lower lip punishingly, his thigh between my legs pinned my hips and dug in painfully. Too hard. Too hot. 

Too much pressure. 

I was fumbling for his shoulders to make him ease off. Couldn’t catch my breath; every exhalation forced out a little more air until I choked. Barely managed to get my hands up, push, and: “Ngh- sto-” 

I couldn’t even tell if I was expecting him to listen - half expected to be ignored with the way his erection pulsed against my thigh and hands held fast around my waist - but the sudden rush of air when Hunk pulled back was a shock all the same. Just enough to let me up onto my elbows to breathe.

“Ah, sorry,” Gentle sincerity. As much of a surprise as the careful distance and soft lips that soothed where he’d bit, then questioned: “…are you okay?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. No one ever asked before. It was numbing, and at the same time a flush bloomed in my gut. Flared hot on my face and made my lip throb in time to the pulsing that worked down to my cock in slow waves. “…Yeah,” I seized my opportunity. My hands were still on his shoulders and my knee was between his thighs: it afforded me just enough leverage to flip him onto his back with a grunt of effort, “You need to lose some weight.”

Hunk was laughing. I didn’t care about anything except getting his clothes off and getting my mouth on every last sliver of bared skin that followed. He swallowed a low groan when I found a small, dark nipple and coaxed it to hardness with my tongue. Whichever it was – the alcohol or the smoke – I was so lightheaded now that I couldn’t quite figure out the button on his slacks. Hands brushed mine away; I tugged Hunk’s shirt off instead. Exposed his stomach and navel to suck heatedly at the muscle there- it tensed under my tongue when he sucked in a harsh breath. He’d managed his pants, somehow. It was a dual effort peeling him out of them but the reward was worth it, he was fully erect by now- wetness beaded at the tip of his cock. His thighs tensed and he shuddered when I licked it up. Salt and faint soap. He tasted clean. 

It gave me an idea. We were both a little breathless, but unlike before there was all the time in the world for this- more than enough to let me cradle his shaft and explore his cock with my mouth. Find out what he liked. I got my answer when a hard suck at the base of the head made him jump, and his hand found its way into my hair. Pulled it gently with the first slow circle of my tongue, then harder as it dipped into the slit. The treatment made me groan softly, my own cock was throbbing, but I wasn’t stopping until I got what I really wanted. 

There was no protest when my head dipped lower. Hunk only sounded pleasured when teeth scraped his inner thigh carefully, shifted apart easily, let me grasp the backs of them and lift his hips. He still had his grip on my hair. He could make me stop if he wanted to. 

Instead, his moans got pitched and breathy when my tongue found a smooth, pale ring of muscle and pressed softly. Tasted as much like soap as his dick had. Fingers raked through my hair carelessly. I pressed further, drew a slow, cool circle with just the tip… heard him gasp and felt his legs spread wider. I kept going. Kept pushing in further until flesh quivered beneath my lips and his thighs were tensing with each stiff pass, until he started to rock back into it, his ankle hooked over my shoulder, tugging at my scalp insistently until finally my head was pulled back. 

Hunk had his grip on my arm again. Eyes had gone deep black and he was breathing hard through parted lips; red and wet where he’d bitten them. Looked like he wanted it as much as I did. 

In another second he proved me right. Hunk rolled onto his side, pulling me with him. I had no choice but to follow- his hands were bruising, and I was still reeling. I don’t know if I could have said no even if I wanted to. I caught myself on one arm before I fell, and when I paused he only moved his grasp to my hip. Groaned impatiently. Demanded, “What are you waiting for?”

I didn’t know. All I knew was it had been a long time, and the body beneath me was tight, hot, and smelled like sex. I kissed his shoulder. Steadied his hips. Pressed into him. Bit my lip to stifle a groan when I felt that muscle give, finally, and black spots instantly blurred my vision. 

Too high for this. Those last two drinks were a fucking _mistake_. 

It was a fight to keep my head with the way his insides milked my cock. Had to pause to catch my breath. It had to have been a long damn time for him as well with just how tight he was. The fingers on my arm dug in painfully, but he only shifted his legs further apart and turned his face into the mattress. All I could think to do was spit a smear of saliva onto my free palm and slick down his length, coaxing. His groan was low. Muffled. Hips rose up to seat himself even further, and he used that grip to force my cock deeper. Get it exactly where he wanted it. I was nearly seeing stars, but Hunk was insistent. My arm would break in another second if I didn’t start moving. 

…I gave in. Dug my nails into my palm, bit my lip, let the hand on my arm guide my movements to just how deep-fast-slow-hard he wanted. Bit back wave after wave of pulsing, torturous heat that only seemed to build. Vaguely I was aware of the thrusts getting slicker and easier – Hunk was on his stomach with my arm pulled tight to his chest and his heart pounded hard under my palm. Noises of pleasure sounded like they were filtered through water. Didn’t know how long I could-

My orgasm hit like a freight train: out of fucking nowhere, split second warning, then stars. I came to on Hunk’s shoulder, gasping and shaking slightly, mumbling an apology- thighs a sticky mess. 

“Mmh- fuck. Sorry. Shit.” It was clear from his expression that Hunk was still hard, and not half as close as I’d thought. Took him a second to roll over, but he came up with nothing but a shake of his head and a smile. 

He shrugged, pulled me in close to kiss my neck and chuckled, “Less booze next time.” 

As if it didn’t matter in the slightest. 

That wasn’t good enough for me though, I fucked this up, and I wasn’t going to let Hunk let me off the hook that easily. His erection was dark and leaking precum- before he could say anything else I’d straddled his hips, circled my fingers around the base of his cock, and started easing it in. He got a hand up to my stomach to try to stop me – briefly – but that slick hardness and gravity worked faster than sluggish reflexes. I sucked in a breath. Pain burned the back of my thighs for a second, but I had him buried in me to the root in another moment with his palm pressed into my abdomen. 

I fixed my teeth in the inside of my lower lip and rocked my hips slowly. Even that small movement wrung a groan from Hunk’s throat that cut through the dull ache of being stretched more than I was used to. Made me want to hear it again. No trace of resistance remained when I pushed him down by his shoulders and settled on my knees- planted a hand on his chest to steady myself and start riding him with short, shallow movements. Just letting everything get slicker- just relax-

Hunk opened his eyes, licked his lips, and pressed bruising knuckles low into my belly. A hot spike of pleasure flared behind my eyes- warmth drained steadily back into my groin. He was watching me through his lashes; I tossed my bangs out of my face and ground my hips in a vindictive circle, slow and clenched as tight as I could manage. My cock was hard again by the time I was finished. Hunk was arched up on his heels, gripping my hips to try to make me let up, body begging for relief that I wasn’t giving him. 

“Nn- _Hawk…_ “ when he choked out my name, pleading finding its way into his voice, I relented. Leaned back and started riding him in earnest. Rose off his chest, let him up on his elbows, and shut my eyes when he started to move his hips, pounding me back just as hard. 

It was raw. Sore. Hunk’s cock was so much thicker than I was used to- the only thing saving it was the precum that dripped steadily out. Smeared the back of my aching thighs. I bit my lip to keep quiet. 

Hands found the small of my back, eased me into the rhythm they wanted, then suddenly he was close again. One arm pressed tight around my shoulders, that soothing palm laid flat against my stomach to press in time with how he was encouraging me to move. Lips closed around my throat and released the breath I had been holding, along with a shudder of tense muscles. I wrapped my arm around his neck and shifted closer as the ache dissipated, replaced by a gradual flood of heat. Sweat prickled on my chest. My insides were beginning to feel swollen- pulsing with the relentless pressure until I could barely stand it. 

I gave in again.

I groaned, frustrated and wanton. Dug my nails into Hunk’s shoulder. Next to my ear a gust of hot breath carried a satisfied chuckle, then I was falling. My back hit the mattress, and my head couldn’t keep up. I didn’t have time to recover- Hunk’s cock slammed home with the world still spinning around me and this time it was good enough to curl my toes. Had me gasping with the second thrust. Moaning with the third. Heady pleasure thrummed in my temples. His weight on my chest made me fight to breathe but I was long past caring- just wanted more, _harder, yes, fuck me-_

I was slurring out his name, clinging to his arms with my thighs hooked loosely around his waist. Beads of sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. Fingers tangled in my hair, pulled my head back. My whole body tensed and flared electric when teeth closed around my carotid artery and scraped lightly- he forced his cock into me through it and my legs shook. Sensation was building. My insides felt hot. Chest was tight. Heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my skull-

On the edges of my consciousness I wondered what his real name was. 

I felt it coming this time. Had enough time to grasp the back of Hunk’s neck and press my face into his shoulder before I lost it- tensing and releasing in sweet spasms that seemed to go on for minutes while the world stopped. There was moisture on my face. Sweat or tears, I couldn’t tell. My limbs were trembling by the time my vision cleared. Hunk was on my chest, breathing hard. Somehow, he didn’t seem as heavy as before. 

His ear was next to my lips. It seemed natural to press a kiss to it. Judging by the rapidly cooling sensation of moisture on us we were probably a mess, but there would be time for clean up later. Hunk had no objection when I pulled a blanket over us; he must have felt as drained as I did. 

 

Someone was pounding on the door. 

I sat up with my heart in my throat, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Almost didn’t recognize my surroundings until I spotted him next to me. Hunk was asleep. He held a pillow half over his head and had buried himself in the blankets. Had someone been knocking? I held my breath to listen for a few moments- when no further sound came, I shook my head. Just a bad dream, probably. Wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, for one of those to wake me up. 

The room was freezing. A frigid gust and the teeth-rattling shiver that followed made me reach for my pants and shirt, luckily still on the floor where I’d left them. We’d left the window open. I got up, crossed the room, retrieved Hunk’s jacket and closed it. Tossed the jacket onto a chair, then in an instant culmination of all my ill-advised decisions recalled just how much I’d drunk the night before; a railroad spike was being driven into my temples and my mouth tasted like week-old garbage. I needed water. And to piss. 

Single mindedly, I looked for the bathroom. There had to be one in the suite, right?

_Trying to dry his face and shirt with tissue is an exercise in wasted time. It crumbles and wads up before it can soak up anything; he doesn’t even bother with his hair. Sits on the toilet to gather himself… and realizes maybe he should try to go. Can’t remember the last thing he ate but if that little bottle of sanitizer is the invitation he thinks it is, he should at least try to be a little clean._

_He’s in the middle of it when he hears the door open. Instinct makes him pull his knees up._

_He should n_ ot be seen. 

I started to cross the room, then stopped, just short of the door. There wasn’t any reason to, but… that dream. Someone was pounding on the door, trying to get in. I stood and listened once more, just to be sure. 

_Brown shoes pass, go to the end of the row, and enter the last stall._

_“…I’m telling you Frank, this is a real shit show.” Whoever Frank and the speaker are, they’re strangers to Hawk. He still sits frozen with his feet on the edge of the bowl._

_There’s no sound of rustling clothing, but the conversation continues, “First Sheena Island, now the Paris facility, and lately I’ve been hearing some talk about an impeachment? Tell me you know what the fuck is happening.” Three seconds pause, then, “You’re fucking kidding me. I am **not** going to be implicated in this. Frank, you have to get rid of those files.”_

It's subtle. At first, I think maybe I’m imagining it… but the longer I stare at the white-painted wood, the more I’m convinced. Someone is out there. I think I can hear them breathing. I can’t remember if I locked the door when I came in last night, and the thought makes my heart start pounding as hard as it ever has. 

_“Do you fucking hear me?” A bone-jolting bang as the stall door is thrown open, “Burn it! We need everything gone yesterday. And if you even for a second think about pulling a fast one on me and keeping a copy for yourself…”_

_Sharp intake of breath, another pause, and words that are barely audible to Hawk: “…I’m going to pay someone to find your daughter, rape her, cut her tits off, and sell her to that psycho they’ve got running the Antarctic operation. That’s a promise, Frank.”_

My mouth has gone completely dry. I try to swallow but can’t work up enough moisture to do it. For a moment I consider waking Hunk, but in order to do so I’ll have to cross in in front of the door again. Whoever is out there, I don’t know if they’ve seen me yet. I’m sure I hear them breathing now- it’s a low, raspy noise.

I can’t fucking remember if I locked the door. 

_Brown Shoes leaves as fast as he came. Hawk waits another five minutes before he slides his feet off the seat to finish up. When he does, he walks silently to the rest room door and peers through the smallest crack he can manage to make sure no one is waiting._

There’s no helping this. I need to check. 

The floor is carpeted, and my feet make no sound as I approach. Awful, serpiginous nausea follows the same path into my throat when I get closer and the breathing sound only gets louder. The sound of it is guttural, purulent; the worst case of pneumonia I have ever heard. It’s only my imagination, but it seems like it vibrates the wood. 

I’m close enough now to reach for the latch. Unlocked. _Fuck._

My lungs scream their protests against my pounding heart when I hold my breath, but I quash it firmly. I lean forward noiselessly, cautiously depress the dead bolt as slowly as I can. It slides soundlessly; I exhale. 

When it latches, it falls into place with a calm, gentle, quietly deafening click. The breathing on the other side of the door ceases. Then, a thud. Louder, not even remotely close to the noise of metal on metal… it’s more of a muted, slow thump. If I look closely, it does vibrate through the wood, visibly. 

It’s not loud enough to be a knock. I feel like vomiting. The peep hole is inches away from my eye, but I’m shaking too much risk it. I don’t really know what to do if someone breaks in. This isn’t the kind of shit I’m trained for, and it’s been years since I had any CQC. 

The door thuds again: slow, dull, rhythmic. The whole frame vibrates. 

I can’t take it. 

I only meant to look for a second. That was the plan between wracking heart beats and waves of sickness. Just a quick look, then wake Hunk. At least that way we’ll know what we’re dealing with. When I raise my head at last to peer through to the other side, I’m struck dumb. My breath leaves my body. 

_The only people Hawk sees as he hurries away are the girls from before, at the bar. One of them is missing her shoe, and her foot is bloody. The other is helping her walk with a hand under her shoulders. They disappear into the women’s washroom as he disappears into the crowd and heads for the stairs._

It’s Jennifer. Her blonde hair is covering most of her face- her head craned listlessly to one side. As I watch, she steps back from the door. She’s still missing one shoe, and she stumbles, but rights herself jerkily. Jennifer lurches forward again, and her entire body propels into the wood with a muted thud. 

Thud.

 _Thud._ I can’t tear my eyes away. 

From this close, death susurrus - sickly sweet and cloying - is carried through on the breeze. 

 

* * *

 

_When they finally finished it was near midnight. The building had been nearly devoid of life during the day; special clearance just to get in or out, passage granted only to scientists or soldiers, zero public access. By night it was a grave. Most of the authorized personnel left hours ago. Their footsteps echoed for minutes down sterile corridors, long before the owner was close enough to see._

_Even so, he appeared around the corner mere seconds after she heard him coming- civilian clothes and a cap that covered his eyes. Even though she was waiting, ready- had been waiting for over an hour._

_She started up from the wall involuntarily: jerkily stepped into his path, on autopilot. He had already stopped before she even moved, and his eyes followed her, but he said nothing. They watched each other for a few seconds or a stilted moment; it was hard to tell if he even knew who she was. Neither moved._

_The air was full- heavy as cloudburst or a reckoning. Sound died to heartbeats and emptiness that stretched on past intent and into uncertainty._

_Harder to say how long they stayed like that - eyes locked, dead calm and waiting - but eventually his expression shifted. His posture shifted with it. He rocked back on his heels and slid his hands into his pockets. The decision made: the first move was hers._

_“You probably don’t know me. But I want you to know something.”_

_She was acutely aware that she was a study in contrast. Adrenaline made her teeth chatter when she spoke; she held her hands in fists so they wouldn’t shake. Every muscle in her body felt tight. “I don’t care who you are.” After a minute, when he didn’t reply, she persisted, “I don’t give a fuck about your nick name, or your reputation.”_

_She took a step forward so he wouldn’t miss the threat, punctuated it with the tilt of her chin. If he understood, he gave no sign; dispassion, the briefest flicker of interest, then base neutrality. He did not move or speak._

_“I don’t care if you really are the Grim Reaper.” Despite herself, she forced saliva down a bone-dry throat. Reminded herself that this was for Hawk. Her best friend. She owes him everything._

_She readied her strike. Studied her opponent for weakness, pulse beating to a crescendo. An abyss met her gaze._

_Empty, save her own reflection._

_Steadfast. Hurtled blindly toward fate._

_“… **If you hurt him, I will end you**.”_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Decontamination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283427) by [arienai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arienai/pseuds/arienai)




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